Life Without Regret
by Genie Este
Summary: She’d always be up there in that drab green locker trapped inside that militarilyissued space, waiting for the day she would be emptied and her name taped over.


New fic: "Life Without Regret"

Season six, no particular episode. S/J, Angst, tiny bit of humor.

Authors Notes: Muchos thanks to Alli, Sel, Shaz, and Danvers who contributed betas.

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Sam wished she had enough sense to get in out of the rain.

It was a cliché, but an achingly pertinent one. The sky was so overcast on P73-882 that it was night at noontime; the rain was coming down in sideways sheets that her poncho did little to defend against. Her hair was soaked to her head, and from knee down she was covered in thick, jet black mud that clung in clumps to her uniform.

Jonas followed, in much the same shape. The meeting with the village leaders had been, for once, pleasant and relaxed, but there was nothing distinctive about the planet other than some historical ruins left behind by distant Egyptian relatives. They were walking back to the path leading to the Stargate to meet up with the Colonel and Teal'c.

Ahead she saw the Colonel's silhouette occasionally, and only when she got within feet of him did she see him fully. He turned and wiped his eyes of the water dripping from the hood of his poncho, and quirked a brow at her. He shouted something to her, but she couldn't hear him and shook her head.

He stepped in close and shouted to be heard over the pummel of raindrops. "What did we do, land in the middle of the damn monsoon season?"

She grinned lopsidedly at him. "Not according to the Gareans. This is the regular summer storm. It's good for the crops, they say."

"What crops?" He yelled, looking over the black plains.

She shrugged.

He sighed and shook his head. "Did you find out anything we didn't already know?"

A gust of wind sent more water into the edge of her hood, and she could feel the slightly-cool water run down the back of her uniform. She gritted her teeth. "No, not really sir. Their irrigation and draining systems are pretty impressive - out of necessity, it seems - but it's nothing that can't wait for another time."

The Colonel's shoulders sagged in relief, and Sam bit back an amused smile. "Good. Let's get the hell out of here and back to dry land." He turned to Jonas and motioned in the direction of the stargate, Teal'c falling into stride beside him. "This place has nothing on Noah."

"Except that I have seen no giraffes here, O'Neill."

It was a half-mile to the stargate, though the whipping wind and rain made it seem three times longer. The farther Sam went, the more the wind blew at her poncho, finally tangling it in her legs and sending her to the ground. She caught herself, but not without her hands sinking to her elbows - joining knees, calves, and feet - in the mud. She pushed herself up, her arms coming away with a slurpy pop. The wind flapped the hood of her poncho, and within seconds water was running in rivulets into her shirt from all directions.

She look up to find the guys looking down at her.

Jonas obviously felt no attachment to his life. He laughed outright. "I thought on Earth mud baths were characteristically reserved for health spas."

She glared.

Teal'c grinned without actually grinning. "Black is not a beneficial color for you, Major Carter."

The Colonel kept a straight face, but his eyes were dancing with mirth. It was a warming sight, not that she'd ever admit it while she was thigh-deep in mud. "Technical ability: ten. Style: zero."

Not thinking of anything but that playful look, she picked up a handful of mud and flung it directly at the Colonel's face.

It was a direct hit. She watched happily as he spat out mud. He slowly lifted his hand and swiped it down his face, which only served to smear the mud down to his chin. "Carter, that was extremely childish," he said calmly, but she could hear something behind it, " Unfortunately, as any soldier must when attacked, I have no recourse but to retaliate." Amusement. Definitely amusement.

He bent down, scooped up the black slush, and plopped it onto her head.

She sat staring at him open-mouthed.

She heard the Colonel snicker. Then chuckle. Then chortle. Next thing she knew, he was laughing so hard he was holding his sides. "Teal'c's right." Laugh. "Black". Laugh. "Really." Laugh. "Isn't." Laugh. "Your color." More laughter.

It was the final straw.

She sloshed over to where he was doubled over. She grabbed his shirt, yanked it open, and shoved mud down in it. She let go, and the mud slapped his chest with a loud smack.

He went completely still, and so did she.

She had just put mud down her commanding officer's shirt.

She had just put mud down her commanding officer's shirt.

They stared at each other.

Jonas chuckled nervously. "Well, that was…fun. Maybe we should get home…now."

The silence stretched.

And then finally - finally - the left corner of Jack's mouth curled upward. Followed by the other. The relief she felt was overwhelming.

Colonel O'Neill straightened himself, and held out his hand to her. "Truce?"

She grinned, and took his hand. "Is that an order, sir?"

"Only if you plan to put mud down my pants next time."

She blushed. "Truce, sir."

Once she was on her feet, she realized that the poncho was still a problem. Annoyed and already fairly soaked - and wanting to take advantage of the rain in order to get at least some of the mud out of her hair - she pulled the thing over her head, rolled it up into a tight ball, and stuffed it into her one of her fatigue pockets.

Soaked to the bone, she was at least granted full movement. She shrugged at the Colonel, who was standing with a frown aimed in her direction.

Shaking his head, he muttered to himself as he pulled off his own poncho and put it away. Seeing her incredulous look, he ticked an eyebrow. "Can't do much more damage now, can it?"

Jonas pointed out the looming stargate, which was becoming more and more visible as they got closer. He glanced at his watch. "It's 1300. We should be crossing SG-6 in the gateroom," he called, hitting the coordinates to Earth on the DHD.

"Oh, wonderful. We're soaked and mud-covered. This'll certainly go down as SG-1's finest mission." He tried desperately to stomp off the mud from his boots, but realized quickly it was a lost cause. He finally gave up with an exasperated kick to the stone ramp.

Sam winced. "Sorry, sir."

He looked over at her with someone dangerously close to affection on his face. "Don't apologize, Carter," he said, not softly, but quietly enough that she alone heard him. "It was fun."

She returned the gaze. "Yes sir."

The Colonel's parting orders before they went through the stargate had been, "Keep your chins up, folks. We have a reputation to uphold."

And so when they stepped through and were greeted by General Hammond's "Welcome back, SG-1", she followed his lead while he pretended that nothing was out of the ordinary.

Hammond had the unshakable superior officer routine down to an art form. "I take it there was some weather?"

A small piece of mud fell from the Colonel's nose to the floor. "Yes sir, you could say that."

Hammond cleared his throat, but Sam could have sworn that it was a laugh. "Very well, then. Get your post mission check-up and then a shower."

Colonel O'Neill all but saluted, shooting a glare at Major Walker from SG-6. "Yes sir."

Just as Sam thought they'd get out of the gateroom with a shred of honor intact, Hammond swooped down and plucked it up.

"Oh, and Colonel…could you and Major Carter please remember to save the beauty masks for your free time and not that of the Air Force's?"

He stopped, but didn't turn around. "It was a T-zone emergency, General, but yes, I'll keep that in mind."

And then, heads held high, they walked all the way to the infirmary for post-mission checkup - dripping and making tracks the whole way - and to the showers with something as close to grace and dignity as one could have with clumps of black, chunky stuff falling from faces, hair, and clothing with each step.

Sam hung back. "You guys go ahead. I'll wait."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow. "You sure, Carter?"

She gave a small smile. "Yeah. You guys sme…look like a good long soak could do you good. Besides," she pointed to her hair, "I'm liable to be in there for a while longer than normal."

Jonas brushed by them and pushed into the locker room, calling "Suit yourself" over his shoulder. She and the Colonel shared a look before he followed.

And then she was alone in the hallway. She sat down on the bench and covered her face with her hands.

They had gotten way too familiar, and she knew it. The problem was that she couldn't seem to figure out how to stop it.

Or remember why it was wrong.

They had been so relaxed. A lot more relaxed than they had in a long while. It had been nice, goofing around and being close again. They had acted like friends again.

Acted like lovers would.

Offworld.

Okay, so maybe that had something to do with why it was wrong.

She really needed a shower. The mud was interfering with her logical thinking processes.

But deep down, she knew it wasn't.

Heaviness settled into her chest, and she felt her buoyant mood lose air and slip under the roiling water of her emotions.

By the time the guys left the locker room and Sam got the showers it was 1430, well past time for the remaining mud in her hair and on her face to have dried. She was not looking forward to the fuzzy mess her hair would be after the many shampoos it would take to get it dirt-free.

She passed Colonel O'Neill on her way into the locker room, and he must have seen the dark emotions in her face because he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. "What's up?"

She forced a smile. "Nothing. Just want to get clean and dry. Really want to get home, you know?"

He looked disappointed. "I was just going to see if you wanted to go get something to eat. Especially since I know for a fact you haven't eaten since 0800 this morning."

"What about Jonas and Teal'c?"

He suddenly avoided her gaze. "Actually, I wasn't planning on asking them."

A beat of silence went by as she tried to hide her surprise. "Oh. Okay. You know, sir, it's been a long day and I really think I should just go home"-

She knew he could see right through her.

His face closed off and he waved a hand. "Yeah, sure. I understand. Enjoy your shower."

And before she could say another word he turned and walked away.

And suddenly she knew what the problem was.

She wanted to go out to dinner with him.

Really, she had always wanted to go to dinner with him. To his cabin. To his house.

But it was never something she allowed herself to think about. It was always there, yes; a wish, a hope that lurked in the back of her brain always taunting her with possibilities.

But lately it had been different.

Lately she was actually, literally considering it.

She wanted to go to out dinner with him.

She sat down in the steamy locker room that smelled of aftershave and testosterone, and let herself consider all the things she wouldn't let herself before.

Like going to his cabin with him. Alone.

Like going to his house with him. Alone.

Like kissing him. Hard.

Funny how these patterns were asserting themselves.

She bent over until her forehead touched her knees.

She was contemplating having a romantic relationship with her CO, Colonel Jack O'Neill.

And she suddenly couldn't remember why it had ever been wrong.

She had spent half an hour in the empty showers, the water as hot as she could stand beating down on her shoulders, watching the murky water run clear again. It seemed to mirror her thoughts.

She left the showers, wrapped a towel around herself and sat on the bench. She stared at the lockers lining the walls, the ones next to each other with the initials 'S.C.' and 'J.O.'. Next to those were written-in with black marker: 'J.Q.' and 'T.'. Daniel's had been emptied and taped over a week after his…death.

They were so symbolic it hurt to look at them.

What was she thinking? By now she should have forced herself past the unruly emotions. A couple months ago she would have.

Things had changed. She had changed.

Maybe she wasn't content with wet, muddy missions anymore. Or living on the base for well over half the year. Or watching the people she loved die. She had never intended for this to make up her life forever.

So how had she gotten to this point? Here, sitting alone and half-naked in a shower room, watching her life fade away like the initials on the locker door?

The years were ticking down, and she could remember every time he had invited her to his cabin, every touch, every look they had stolen and sneaked and stored to feed their ever-growing attachment.

But, God. She couldn't remember the reasons she had let all the possibilities go by. She was trying, taking herself apart looking for the reasons. But all she could remember was the look in his eyes after she had been in that Machine of Nirrti's, when she had been half-conscious and in pain.

It was regret.

Tomorrow they could be dead. Would anything matter when she was dead? Would the rules, or boundaries, or lost opportunities matter? Would she feel anything, things like love and regret? Or were those things reserved only for the living, with all the walls of concrete and pain they built?

Would it matter that much, in the grand scheme of life and death, if their initials weren't on those lockers anymore?

Or worse, if they stayed there?

The years would continue to go by. Jonas and Teal'c would find their own lives again. Eventually Janet would watch Cassie walk down the aisle, and then she would have a new future to dissect and figure out.

Jack would find another woman. A woman who would be free to love him and hold him. Someone who would put him first. He'd have children again, grandchildren if he was lucky. He'd be buried next to that woman who wasn't her.

He would move on, and Sam wouldn't.

She'd always be up there in that drab green locker; trapped inside that militarily-issued space, waiting for the day she would be emptied and her name taped over.

The door to the locker room slammed open, and jarred her from her desolate thoughts. The next thing she registered was the tell-tale whistling of a certain gray-haired Colonel.

Any other time she would have moved or at least have said something to warn him of her presence. This time – just for the heck of it – she didn't.

She heard his feet collide with the concrete behind her.

The whistling stopped abruptly.

"Carter." His startled voice echoed inside the room. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd be finished by now."

She smiled at him. "It's okay sir, I should have been finished a while ago. Was there something you needed?"

He took his hands out of his pockets, acting sheepish. "My wallet." He crossed in front of her and opened his locker, where the brown billfold sat at the bottom. "See?"

She chuckled softly. "Those tend to be important."

He nodded his head slightly, conceding. "Yeah."

Quiet fell as he studied her, the only sound coming from the showers where water was dripping from a shower head.

"You're not okay," he accused, scowling at her.

She sighed. "Sit down." She motioned to the space on the bench beside her.

He swallowed. "Sure. But why don't you get dressed first?"

She frowned at him. "Sir, I'm perfectly decent," she said, looking down and checking herself. "See? All covered up."

He eyed her darkly. "Not in my head, Carter. Put some clothes on." He turned his back to her, giving her some privacy.

Her eyes widened at his candor, but did as he said. "And here I thought I could be one of the guys."

The Colonel snorted over his shoulder. "You are so not one of the guys."

His comment caught her as she was pulling her shirt over her head, and so she didn't respond. But he obviously thought that she had taken offence, because she heard him half-groan, half-sigh.

"I didn't mean that as a bad thing, Carter."

She smiled lightly at his back as she buttoned up her pants. "I know."

"A couple of years ago you wouldn't have."

She grinned, as she knew by the way he was staring at the ceiling that he was trying not to give in to temptation and sneak a glance over his shoulder. She shook her head. "No, a couple of years ago I wouldn't have. But I do now."

She settled back down on the bench. "You can turn around now."

He did. She chose to ignore his muttered 'thank god'.

He moved around the bench and sat beside her. "So what's going on, Carter? What's with all the brooding?"

There was something in his voice again. Except this time it was understanding; he knew. Why he bothered to ask was unknown to her. He knew. He knew what was going on, what had always been going on.

He knew.

She didn't respond. Just leaned back and took him in, concerned and aroused and cautious.

Dark and brooding himself. Scarred and scarring. Loving.

And loved.

In that moment, she hated him.

Hated herself more, but he was the one in front of her. He was the one.

The one, damn it.

She couldn't breathe, would never breath again if she didn't get away from him.

Now.

"Carter."

She didn't listen. She shoved herself off the bench, yanked up her leather jacket and bag with shaking hands, and bolted for the door.

"Carter."

She did listen then, because it was desperate and wanting and so was she. She didn't turn around because she couldn't, but she listened and that was enough.

"Have lunch with me tomorrow. Bellacino's, 1200."

She closed her eyes, lowering her head.

And nodded.

It wasn't what she needed.

But it was a start.

She pulled open the door and fled.


End file.
